In Your Absence
by GetReadyToPanic
Summary: George is alone, he can't compare to what he used to be. Without telling anyone, he moves to a small town in Ireland. He lives for himself, he makes his own friends, he laughs for himself for once. He isn't FredAndGeorge. He's George. And if he happens to fall in love on the way, well then so be it. George Weasley/Ronan McLaughlin


Prologue

His cobalt blue eyes glaze over, his body falling limp in my arms as they trembled violently whilst I attempted to hold him steady. They're lying. He's lying. This-this is just a cruel joke.

One of Freds tricks. He loves his tricks. C'mon Freddie, time to wake up. Wakey-wakey Fred. Enough's enough. STOP IT FRED! YOU'RE SCARING ME! STOPPITSTOPPITSTOPPIT-

-A battlefield is no place to grieve.

In the background I can hear spells, my mother screaming for her son, my dad yelling for him to stop playing-stop with the bloody tricks Fred, Ginny sobbing into her torn school jumper. But it's all white noise to me, nothing but a constant buzzing in my eye. It's just him and I, in our bubble. Safe, he's safe. I'll keep him safe. I've always kept him safe.

Not now. Why wasn't I there for him? Why wasn't I by his side. Just what feels like minutes ago he told me he was okay. He told me that he was okay! I should've been there, it should've been me.

It should've been me.

I raise a hand to his paling face, watching fascinated as my long fingers shiver despite the heat of the war, I brush the digits along the prominent freckles that mirror my own, smoothing back the copper coloured strands of hair from his grinning face.

I don't allow myself to blink. Savouring each moment as I know I'll never be able to hold him in my arms again. The smile forever etched onto his face, someone's pulling me away, trying to take him from me. But I'm screaming, I don't know what I'm screaming. Or even why. It's like-it's like it's not even me. As if I'm watching myself shake Fred. Like I can see myself scream for him to wake up until my throats hoarse and raw.

I hold his body close to mine, desperate to hear the reassuring thump-thump-thump of his heart beat.

There isn't one. All I can hear is stone-cold, unforgiving silence and the white noise.

I look up, he's standing there, fading fast. He lifts his hand in a wave, giving me his trademark grin, "Mischief Managed, Georgie." He whispers as he leaves, first off walking slowly and then breaking into a sprint, his childish laughter piercing through the screams and bouncing off the walls as he bounds into the white light dancing in the darkness that lurks behind me, it flashes when he steps into it and it blinds me, I blink. When my eyes open again, he's gone.

I lower my eyes to the cold body in my arms. It's not Fred anymore. It's just his body. A shell that he once inhabited and filled with life and laughter. Fred's not here. He's left and he's taken everything with him. His laugh, his smile. His crazy ideas bound to get him in bother. He's gone.

It's just an empty body.

He's left. He'slefthe'slefthe'sleft. It's just me. Just me. Just me. I'm only a half of a pair, I can't do it for both of us. Twins. That implies both of us, not just me! Not just me! I'm screaming again, beating at his chest with fists that aren't my own. Ron's dragging me away, and I'm crying into his hand-knitted jumper whilst my mother and father cradle Fred's body between them and Ginny sobs openly. I should comfort her, I'm her big brother, I'm supposed to protect my siblings. I couldn't do that. Couldn't. I'm screaming into Ron's shoulder because the bastard is taller than me but he doesn't seem to notice as he's stuck in his own whirlpool of broken sobs and rasps.

But it's all white noise.

(Pagebreak)

The rain falls fast and thick, pouring heavily down my cheeks like blood. It's suffocates me, worming it's way down my throat until I'm rasping for breath and I'm not able to catch it. I can't really tell the difference between the rain and my tears, I only know that both of them seem to be in a constant flow. This morning was his funeral, and the rest of the family waited at the entrance, but after a while they gave up waiting and left to grieve in privacy at the burrow. I couldn't go back, not without him, I couldn't face the pitying looks, my mothers heart-wrenching sobs, I couldn't sleep in the bedroom that once was ours.

I can't even stomach the thought of the joke shop.

The grave stone is charcoal grey with swirled gold writing. I tried to argue that Fred wanted a striped one. Yet they didn't believe me, I knew him best and that's what he always said, "C'mon George! When I die, I wanna put the 'fun' back into 'funeral'". No matter how many times he said it, there's nothing fun about today.

I clutch desperately at a bunch of sodden daisy chains in my hands. I lay them across the headstone, noting with rueful pleasure how much they stick out from the everyone else's extravagant bouquets and flower arrangements that litter the freshly dug grave.

I trail a finger across the writing, 'Fred Weasley,' and closing my eyes I can picture him beside me. Laughing uproariously despite being in a graveyard and calling me a soppy old git for crying so much. I shudder, pulling my suit jacket tighter around my shoulders.

The wind cuts through me like a sharpened steel blade, sending my crimson scarf billowing out behind me like Snape's cloak. Snape. That's another person we lost. As well as Remus Lupin. My hero, the smartest and longest living marauder. Tonks. Fred's older woman crush who I teased him about senselessly. Colin Creevey. That funny little kid with the camera who fancied himself a photographer. Lavender Brown. I never liked her, but...but she's gone, and she's even younger than Fred. All gone.

I feel helpless. Like a child lost in a supermarket. I was never too good at these kind of things, this was Fred's area of expertise. He knew how to deal with people, how to deal with pity disguised as sympathy.

I close my eyes but for a minute I can almost feel the familiar weight of his hand in mine, the scratch of his calloused palm against my own. We were too old to hold hands nowadays, but for those rare moments, when we were terrified or excited he would clasp my hand as he pulled me towards the object of his current emotion.

The small comfort disappears as soon as it comes and I feel colder than before.

Turning on my heel, I leave.

**A/N Please tell your friends and please review! It'll help me get the next chapterup quicker and that's where the real plot starts!**

**-GRTP**


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